


Alternative Forms of Meditation

by Noblehunter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cock Warming, Flashbacks, Gardener!Shiro, Light BDSM, M/M, Misuse of mindfulness therapy, More like better use of mindfulness therapy, Panic Attacks, Sins against plants, Veteran!Shiro, Yeehaw AU, farmer!keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noblehunter/pseuds/Noblehunter
Summary: Shiro's not having any luck working out his frustrations over a ruined garden. Keith decides to try a new kind of kind of therapy.





	Alternative Forms of Meditation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buffshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffshiro/gifts).



> Much thanks to buffshiro for the wonderful art of Yeehaw AU and  @ColieB  for the beta-ing. All mistakes and travesties of characterization remain my own.

Shiro paused at his front door and tried to control his breathing. He’d promised Keith—promised his husband—that he wouldn’t bring his frustrations home. It was bad enough that he was still sweaty from his aborted workout. He didn’t need to come in panting like he’d ran all the way home. Keith opened the door before Shiro could finish calming himself.

Keith smiled. “Are you coming in?” he asked.

Ryan called that expression “Keith's Shiro smile”. Shiro’s chest didn’t seem so tight any more. He nodded. “Just catching my breath.”

“I’ll try not to take it away again.” Keith stepped back to let Shiro in.

“You always do,” Shiro said. He went inside and kicked off his shoes.

Seeing Keith helped, but the frustration of discovering an entire garden lost to rot still boiled inside him. Bad luck he could deal with, but not idiots who refused to follow instructions.

“I’ll be downstairs,” Shiro muttered. He hadn’t finished his workout and could use the punching bag to let out the rest of his frustration.

“Okay,” Keith said. “I’ll be up here dealing with this month’s paperwork. When dad warned me about long days, I thought he mean shovelling shit not paper.”

“The curse of a small business owner,” Shiro agreed. He knew he sounded tense, but hopefully Keith didn’t pick up on it. Paperwork was bad enough without him worrying about Shiro.

It took about thirty seconds for Shiro to break his rule about not picturing customers while using the punching bag. Then he had to take a break. Beating up Slav was a bit excessive, no matter how annoying he was. It felt like kicking a puppy.

Worse, he knew what someone looked like when they’d been pummeled by an expert. Anxiety seemed to grab him by the scruff of his neck. Shiro shook his head and started punching in a steady rhythm. The bag was once again nothing more than black leather. This was just exercise.

He focused on the sensations of his fist hitting the bag; of the floor beneath the balls of his feet; of the extension of his arm and of how his entire body twisted to put maximum power into his punch. If a thought intruded or a memory seized his attention, he noticed it and mindfully refocused on what he doing; on the still strange metallic overlay from his prosthetic and the subtly different strain in his shoulder on that side. There was nothing besides him and the punching bag.

A seam popped. The threads parted with a sharp crack. Shiro’s whole body flinched. He seized up as he fought the urge to dive to the floor. Mindfulness was driven off by the pounding of his heart. He was under attack. His chest was tight. Had he been hurt? He needed to take cover. Where was somewhere safe? The space under the stairs? He needed to be less exposed.

After a moment when nothing exploded and no one shot at him, he remembered where he was. He needed to get a fucking grip. Shiro pounded a fist against the wall. He was safe and everything was fine. It had been years since he’d been injured and cashiered out. There was no reason for him to freak out at nothing. He shouldn’t have let himself get rattled by listening to two guys swapping war stories at the gym. It shouldn’t have sent him running home. Now Shiro was huddling under the basement stairs next to the Christmas decorations.

“Darlin’?” Keith called down from the top of the stairs. “I heard some banging. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Shiro couldn’t help thinking of the end of one of Hunk’s favourite episodes of that weird science fiction show. _Was fine some kind of expression in your language for really not all right?_

“Do you want to talk about it?”. Keith had been forced to watch that episode, too. He’d come down the stairs without Shiro noticing. That was bad situational awareness.

“Just a bad day,” Shiro said. “Slav decided his plants needed watering twice a day whether it rained or not.” If he couldn’t calm down, it was best to focus on trivial frustrations.

“Didn’t his daughter ask for a low maintenance garden?” Keith asked, playing along.

Shiro nodded. “I put in succulents. They’re fucking cacti. I told him he could just ignore them and I’d be by to do the weeding. But no, he just had to fucking water them. Then, and then, he had the nerve to yell at me because my plants rotted. As if it was my fault!”

“What did you tell him?” Keith asked, his voice thick with morbid curiosity.

“That I would be discussing the situation with his daughter, who paid for the garden, after all.” Shiro glowered at the wall in memory. “I should have said if he was too stupid to follow instructions, he was too stupid to have a garden.”

“I’m proud of you for keeping your cool,” Keith said with a sincerity that still made Shiro warm and fuzzy.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to come upstairs? I could give you some company.”

Shiro heaved a sigh. He was too tired after the panic attack to try and sweat out the remnants of his anxiety. At least upstairs he could bask in his husband’s presence. “Yeah.”

Keith waited for him at the tops of the stairs. Shiro kissed him like it had been days instead of hours since the last time. Keith just kissed him back and held on until the kiss ended. Shiro leaned on his husband and breathed in the faint smell of horses and cows that persisted no matter what soap Keith used. With Keith’s arms around him, Shiro could finally shake the voice berating him for being foolish.

“Thanks,” Shiro whispered into Keith’s hair.

“Anytime, sweet cheeks.”

Shiro blushed and captured one of Keith’s hands. He trailed behind his husband back to the study. There were intimidatingly large piles of paper all over it. It didn’t look like Keith gotten much done before Shiro interrupted him. Shiro tensed up and let go of Keith’s hand. He made to sit in on of the chairs by the bookcase.

“Come here.” The tone in Keith’s voice made Shiro’s dick sit up and take notice.

He walked over to stand in front of the desk. He wanted to ask Keith what he was planning but anticipation stopped the words cold. He raised an eyebrow, knowing Keith would see the question.

“Under the desk,” Keith ordered. “I need you close if I’m going to get through these forms.”

That was more direct than Shiro had expected. His head spun with how fast he’d gone from the aftermath of his panic attack to a scene. He folded himself into the space under the desk. He knelt and looked out from under the desk to watch Keith.

“You’ll want to get more comfortable than that,” Keith said. He stripped out of his jeans and sat on the chair. He was wearing one of Shiro’s favourite pair of boxers, short blue ones that seemed a breath away from fluttering to the ground.

Shiro switched to a cross-legged posture. He made slight adjustments to minimize muscle strain. A short stint as a model for art classes had taught him a little about how to hold the same pose for an extended period. Keith never made that suggestion unless he was about to keep Shiro still as part of a scene. Shiro also made sure there was room for Keith to wheel the chair back in. He was already getting hard at the thought of Keith wanting Shiro to blow him while he did the paperwork.

It was easy for Shiro to lean forward after Keith got into position. Keith spread his legs and Shiro squeezed himself into the space, taking comfort in being bracketed by Keith’s legs and thighs. He rested his cheek just below the hem of the boxers and tried to wait patiently. It was easy since he could see Keith was anticipating where this was going.

Keith’s hand pulled his cock out. It flopped forward to rest on Shiro’s lips, soft despite the impending scene. He breathed shallowly through his nose. Given the slightest excuse he’d swallow Keith down but he hadn’t been given permission yet.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Keith said. His dick twitched. “You’re going to take my cock and not suck on it.” It lifted away from Shiro and started to harden. “You’re going to keep me in your mouth while I work on this. If you’re good, I’ll let you suck me off when you’re done.”

By the time he finished speaking Keith was fully erect. He was noticeably bigger than when he was soft, but his dick had lifted off his thigh so Shiro still had to stretch to capture the tip. He hummed with pleasure as he slid Keith’s shaft into his mouth, unable to resist running his tongue along it and sucking just a little.

“What did I say?” Keith said gently. “Give me the safe signal if you understand.”

Shiro rapped on the desk four times in a quick rhythm. It was their standard alternative to a safe word when Shiro couldn’t speak.

He took just enough of Keith into his mouth that he didn’t need to worry about it blocking his breathing or choking on it. When Keith went soft, Shiro would be able to take his whole cock into his mouth. He shifted his posture again trying to minimize the strain. It wouldn’t be completely comfortable, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with. He was able to keep his cheek resting on Keith’s thigh. He settled down to ignore his own erection and wait for Keith to get his work done.

“Are you comfortable Shiro?” Keith asked.

Shiro tapped the desk twice.

“Good.” Keith shifted slightly and his cock pulled at Shiro’s mouth a little. It was semi-hard now and Shiro sighed around its comforting presence in his mouth.

“I know you have problems meditating,” Keith began and Shiro felt his skin being to crawl. “I know you try to use exercise to help, like the punching bag. But I want to try something else.”

Shiro swallowed as the familiar anxiety boiled up. He was so useless at therapy; he didn’t want to try any more. He focused on the cock in his mouth. Whatever Keith was thinking, Shiro could do at least one thing right.

“I want you to focus on how I feel in your mouth,” Keith said softly. “Concentrate on how I feel against up your tongue, on how your lips are stretched. Pay attention to the muscles in your jaw and how the head brushes against the back of your throat.”

The soft litany made Shiro’s erection press exquisitely against his pants. He directed his attention as instructed. Keith was hot and smooth. Even as he softened, his cock still filled Shiro’s mouth. Shiro’s jaw was slowly tensing up with effort of keeping his mouth tight around Keith’s cock. He consciously relaxed it to keep it from getting sore.

“Take a deep breath through your nose, noticing how you have to keep from taking me too deep.” Keith sounded supremely unaffected despite talking about his cock in Shiro’s mouth. “Hold the breath for a long moment and then breathe out.”

The familiar litany washed over Shiro. The unusual additions served to ground out Shiro’s usual spike of anxiety. This wasn’t therapy, this was a scene and he needed to to be good for Keith.

“I want you to note anything else you’re feeling and put it aside,” Keith continued. “You can acknowledge the thought or sensation but then return your focus to your breathing. Don’t let your attention wander from how I feel in your mouth.”

As Keith mentioned the possibility of other thoughts, Shiro flashed back to the episode in the basement. He steeled himself against the intrusion and redirected his attention to Keith. No longer hard, Keith’s cock lay on his tongue. Shiro adjusted his jaw just to feel Keith slide across his tongue. He noticed a twinge in his back and Shiro breathed in, conscious of just how close he was to choking on Keith. Contentment pooled in his belly. The mental fuzz of an impending panic attack faded.

“I’m going to start working now,” Keith said. “I want you to keep focused on your breathing. Don’t let yourself be distracted. Can you do that for me?”

Shiro tapped the desk twice. He had to consciously swallow to keep himself from choking on Keith. He kept his breathing slow and regular, always aware of the stretch of his lips and the weight on his tongue. His erection subsided and he noted his arousal and set it aside. It was just another sensation, like the press of the floor against his legs. He didn’t need to ignore or accept them, they just did not impinge on his awareness. There was only the cock in his mouth and the steady rhythm of his breath.

Shiro's awareness of time faded. Whether it was just subspace or ordinary meditation, Shiro floated along, aware of only his breathing and Keith. Everything else faded from his awareness. Keith's occasional shifts as he reached for a new paper across the desk, or into a drawer, didn't disturb Shiro's trance. He noted the sensation of Keith moving in his mouth and set it aside. Shiro was going to be good. He wouldn't move until Keith told him he could.

After a long, timeless moment, Keith pushed himself away from the desk. He cock slipped out of Shiro's mouth. Shiro blinked in confusion at the loss of his focus.

"You okay?" Keith asked.

It took a long time for Shiro to process that Keith was asking him a question. Slowly, he lifted an arm and tapped on the desk twice.

"I need your words, Shiro." Keith pushed further back and leaned down to look at Shiro. "Colour?"

Shiro thought carefully. "Green."

"Okay," Keith smiled. "Can you come out?"

Moving seemed like an unnecessary challenge. He stretched out and put his tapping arm palm down on the ground in front of him. Then he matched it with his other arm. Yes, this was right. He leaned forward and put his weight on his arms, crawling out from under the desk.

Keith beamed at him. "Thank you."

Shiro rest his cheek on Keith's thigh again. The tip of Keith's cock rested just beyond his lips. He held himself still waiting for instructions.

Keith put himself back into his boxers. "Time to stand up, I think we're done for today." He pulled Shiro to his feet. "Come on, sweet cheeks, check back in."

"Getting there." Shiro blinked. Standing had helped ground him. He shook his head and swallowed. "Can I have some water?"

"Sure." Keith stood and went to the kitchen.

Shiro sat in Keith's chair. His legs were still shaky. He began to fiddle with a pen to avoid paying too much attention to his breathing.

"Gonna do my paperwork?" Keith asked as he set a glass of water down on a coaster.

"You know I have no head for numbers." Shiro drained the glass.

"I can hope."

Shiro reached out to grab Keith through his boxers. "I have a better job in mind."

Grinning, Keith leaned down to kiss Shiro.

**Author's Note:**

> Rejected Titles:
> 
> Better living through the misuse of therapy  
> Mindfulness techniques not approved by the APA  
> Here comes a thot...  
> The Magical Cock Warming fic


End file.
